


Finale

by jitteryglittery



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood, Confessions, Harry Potter - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Logic | Logan Sanders (Mentioned) - Freeform, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sleep | Remy Sanders (mentioned) - Freeform, hmm, how else to tag this?, im still sad from the last episode, these boys deserve better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24625603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jitteryglittery/pseuds/jitteryglittery
Summary: “I’m going to finish this fucking book if it’s the last thing I ever do,” he proclaims, eyes skimming the pages and hoping more than anything that Harry is going to punch Voldemort in the face.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Finale

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the zombie supermarket au. 
> 
> warning for a panic attack near the end of the chapter, please be careful when reading.
> 
> kudos/comments appreciated! hope you enjoy.

There are three things that Virgil (sitting against a storeroom door covered in half price posters, his knees pulled to his chest, and praying that the things making those sounds won’t find him) can say he knows for certain.

One, they’re trapped. Stuck. Absolute sitting ducks with no hope of rescue. 

A crackled voice from the speakers reminds him there’s clearance on back to school pencil cases. That’s the fifth time that’s been clarified in an hour. His baseball bat pokes out of the top of his rucksack, digging into the back of his neck. He doesn't care enough to move it.

Two, this is where they’re going to die. The building's surrounded, and it's only a matter of time till something figure out they're inside. Too many holes and smashed windows, not enough time to block all of them up with the seemingly endless boxes of bluetooth speakers he'd found in the staff room upstairs. They could leave. But they’d never outrun the herd, and Virgil would rather die than get eaten because of his refusal to ever do cardio. 

And three -

“I’m going to finish this fucking book if it’s the last thing I ever do,” he proclaims, eyes skimming the pages and hoping more than anything that Harry is going to punch Voldemort in the face.

Roman is squashed by his side as they both lean against the door, their ankles overlapping, his hands resting near where the book is on Virgil’s knees as if their presence will make him turn the pages even faster. Virgil is too busy to read into the laugh that tickles his ear.

“That’s the thing. This probably will be the last thing you ever do, if the zombies eat your face,” Roman hums. Virgil turns the page. “But don’t worry, it'll be worth it. Probably."

"Shh," Virgil nudges his shoulder. The speakers try their best, but their helpful reminder that the shop will be closing soon comes out distorted. No matter. He plans to to ignore them entirely, anyway. "I'm trying to read."

Roman does quieten down - but instead he flicks at the pages. Virgil makes a barricade with his palm. Their fingers end up tangled together, and he tries not to notice it. But it just means he notices Roman instead, framed by one of the bright red posters he's leaning back on, smiling though their hopeless situation. Because it is a hopeless situation. They're going to die in a supermarket with nothing but popular fiction and a buffering sound system for company.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts. There'll be time to list all his regrets once he finds out how this book is going to end.

Roman fidgets. Virgil knows this about him. He likes it, because it’s a constant, and you can never have too many of those at the end of the world. Roman fidgets, and Virgil is thankful he’s never changed. 

Well, he’s changed a bit. They both have. Nobody’s who’s survived this long are exactly the same person they were at the start.

The people they used to be. Virgil holds them close to his chest, lest he loses the memory. He isn’t foolish enough to think those people are ever coming back - and it wouldn’t be a good thing if they did, but it doesn’t mean they aren’t important. The old Virgil and Roman are still Virgil and Roman. Still stuck together, even back then. That’s worth remembering.

Of course, he knows other people too. A whole settlement’s worth.

He remembers when Roman spotted it years ago: he practically threw down his telescope - _”why did it have to be a telescope? — Because it’s **cool** , Virge” -_ and he wanted to sprint over that exact moment but Virgil was there to tug him back into their hiding spot. He made them watch and wait for a while. He wanted to go over too, of course he did, but he wasn’t going to make it this far into zombie apocalypse just to have unfriendly humans be the thing that kills him.   
  
Roman complained. Roman fidgeted. Eventually Virgil deemed it safe.

And surprisingly enough, things... actually went okay. They were more than welcome once they’d been deemed not a threat - and honestly, with both of them sleep deprived, rucksacks empty, Roman limping, how much of a threat could they be?

And Roman got the care he needed, which was the most important thing. He’s always made friends faster than Virgil, and back then was no exception; by the time Virgil came to check up on him he was already laughing with some guy in sunglasses, covered in bandage strips. So they stuck around. It was their best chance of survival, and eventually even Virgil managed to make friends. It was different, of course, because he didn’t know what these people had been like before. He didn’t know how they’d changed. He only had who they were now, so he felt justified in being wary for the first week or two. 

He thinks of his friends now. They wouldn’t be sending out any search parties for them just yet. He and Roman has been on a trading supply run with the closest nearby settlement when their car - which Remy had _assured_ them was ready to go - was in fact ready to do nothing at all. And thus, an easily avoidable herd became a solemn promise of the end. Virgil turns a page. Roman re-ties his shoelaces.

Remy had pulled him aside before they left, pressing his sunglasses into his hand.   
  
“Bring them back,” he’d said. It was something they always did. Bring them back. Come back with them. Come back alive. Now, his sunglasses feel heavy resting atop Virgil’s head. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to keep his promise this time. He should leave them somewhere obvious, if Remy ever comes looking. 

There’s noise next to him - he looks up to see Roman shuffling onto his feet, stretching out his arms. He doesn’t move after that, a moment lasting just a second too long.   
  
“What’s wrong?” Virgil returns to his book, torn between thinking it’s fine, because Roman would understand, Roman wants him to finish Harry Potter just as much as he does - and thinking that he’s a terrible excuse of a friend. 

_What’s wrong._ He finds that more funny than he should. He should be asking what else is wrong. What problem does he have to add to the pile that they’re never going to sort out?

Roman gives a sad sort of laugh. The type Virgil can’t help but commit to memory, because he wants to do something to make sure it doesn’t happen again. It’s frustrating to know there’s no real difference he can make.

”It’s nothing much,” Roman promises, dropping back to his spot at Virgil’s side. “Logan promised me another game of chess when we got back. Said he might even let me win this time.” 

Virgil keeps his eyes on the page. He can’t make a real difference, but he can blindly hold out his hand for Roman to take, he can let him know he’s not alone. Remy’s sunglasses feel like they’re burning a hole in his skull.   
  
A thumb rubs his knuckles, and Virgil definitely doesn’t focus on it at all. “I don’t want him to be worried about us. But it’s fine. The game’s only going to be postponed for a little while.”

Virgil tightens his grip. There are three things he knows with certainty. One - they’re trapped. Two - they’re going to die. Three - he’s accepted that, and just wants to finish one single book before the end. But Roman still has hope that they’re going to live. That help will come. That he’ll get back home to his stupid game of stupid chess. And Virgil can’t bear to take that hope away. 

"I think," Roman says. "I think I'm gonna go take a look out there."

"I'll come with you," Virgil offers, but he is waved away. Roman unzips his rucksack, grabbing a knife and leaving the rest. The reason why passes between them, unspoken. Roman won't be needing any supplies if he's dead. He still has his hope that they’re going to make it, but that doesn’t make him a fool.

Stubborn and frustrating, sure, but never a fool. 

He stands and there's a pause, a moment that contains Roman gripping the knife in one hand, the other tapping fingers against his leg. It contains Virgil sitting against the door, book in his lap, not entirely sure if the sudden tension is from the danger Roman’s about to face or if it’s something else.

"Stay here, okay? Keep reading." Roman's turned fully towards Virgil and the door, the posters reflecting onto his skin, painting him in red. There's more to say. There's always been something more, but ignoring feelings is something Virgil finds pretty easy when there's the end of the world to deal with. He won't name it, because naming it means acknowledging that it's there, and acknowledging he's done nothing about it - and he doesn't want to die with that extra regret.

Virgil moves out of the way. Roman's already walking out the door when he reopens his book. His eyes scan over a few lines. He isn't taking any of them in.

Fingers tap. His attention wanders. The door remains closed. He stubbornly reads a few more words, only to receive the same results. Tugging Roman's rucksack under his arm... helps, a little. Virgil should have said something. He should have sat in front of the door until Roman said something. What was he thinking, letting Roman go? 

He clutches at the strap, rough under his hands. Roman's probably already dead. Or dying. Or he's turned, and god - Virgil hopes it's not that. Because when time passes and he has no choice but to leave the storeroom behind too, he doesn't think he could bare seeing the undead eyes of his friend staring back at him. His skin turned an ashen grey. His white jacket stained with blood - and he'd be covered in it, Virgil thinks. Red, on red, on red; reaching out for him, and perhaps the scariest part of all is that if it comes to that, if the worst case scenario he's invented in his head becomes a reality, Virgil knows he won't run away. He prefers the idea of his life ending by Roman's doing, rather than by any of the other countless monsters that wait outside, suffocating the building.

He didn't even give his friend a proper goodbye. The last words spoken between them were _keep reading._ Nothing gentle. Nothing profound. Nothing tender, like the years between them deserved. Surviving by guarding each other, as if the other's life was tied to their own - ignored like it didn’t matter at all. Nothing but _keep reading._ It makes him want to laugh. Or cry. 

The baseball bat digs into his neck again and suddenly Virgil can’t take it, reaching behind his back only to throw his rucksack to the ground. He kicks it as far as it will go. He wants to throw the sunglasses too but he doesn’t dare, not when they don’t belong to him. Roman has hope, but Virgil has none. He’s dead. God, he’s dead, and now Virgil can’t breathe and the room is too small and Roman’s _dead._ Tears sting his eyes and there’s pain in his chest - like Roman’s knife has stabbed him and remains buried deep. Roman’s dead, he’s next and he never even finished his book. He’ll die with regrets, but dying alone is worse.

He wishes Roman was here. Roman could just spoil it and tell him how the book ends. Virgil would only pretend to mind.

He reaches out for it, eyes too blurred with tears to be of use. It takes a moment; he’d thrown it too, but not far. _The Deathly Hallows_ gets hugged to his chest - it’s hardback edges digging into him as he tries to breathe. He’s sorry. He’s sorry because Logan won’t ever get the chance to let Roman win. He’s sorry because Remy won’t be able to bundle Virgil into the garage to show off his latest project, and talk about all the places they're going to go. He’s sorry because Roman wasn’t even supposed to be here, it was a solo supply run and he asked him to come with him, he brought his friend to his death - 

Trembling fingers dig harder into the object he clings to. Roman gave him this. 

Roman’s gone, but he gave him this. Virgil breathes deep and slow, as best he can - counting the seconds, page numbers whirling around his head. He loses count. He starts again, and again, and eventually.... eventually breathing comes easier.

He can breathe, but he’s alone, like he should have been from the start.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm jittery-glittery on tumblr, come say hi!
> 
> P.S. I never properly read all the Harry Potter books so if the zombie apocalypse ever happens.... Virgil would be me.


End file.
